


It's Not Real, Promise Me

by Loki_ate_my_pudding



Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: Believer Ryan Bergara, Demonic Possession, Demons, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Manipulation, Ghosts, Horror, Lack of Communication, Skeptic Shane Madej, Violent Thoughts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-26
Updated: 2018-06-26
Packaged: 2019-05-29 06:50:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15067535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Loki_ate_my_pudding/pseuds/Loki_ate_my_pudding
Summary: Ryan and Shane watched in silence as suggestions rolled in on their new video, and it finally dawned upon them that they'd have to some of the most well known haunted places in the United States. Ryan would be lying if he said he didn't want to go, overly eager to pack and leave California for a haunted adventure, but how many times can they go to these places before Shane's dumbass comments actually have an effect?





	It's Not Real, Promise Me

By the time Shane and Ryan had made it to the Amityville horror house, Shane was ready to give up. They'd gotten no evidence at the last to places, his undeniably disrespectful remarks had gotten them zilch. He would've gave up after the first if not for Ryan fucking Bergara and his hopeless crush on the other. Ryan was dedicated, 110% sure that there would be evidence in their final stop. Shane didn't fight him otherwise anymore. 

They were tired, and when tired became borderline exhausted, Shane gave up on fighting Ryan on the existence of ghosts at all. 

Or, he did until the red light on TJ's camera turned on and he ran through the motions of being the skeptic that he truly was. The skeptic that rudely shouted at the ghosts, the one the Shaniacs knew and loved. "This week on Buzzfeed Unsolved, we investigate the Amityville horror house, as part of our ongoing investigation into the question 'Are ghosts real?" 

Shane shook his head at the question, his lips lifting into a light smile. Ryan always made him smile. 

The episode continued as they usually do, no evidence aside from the classic creaks here and there that Shane could simply use the excuse of wind for. He was borderline tired of their current trip, ready to return to California, but Ryan's mixture of fear and excitement made him want to stay. So he did, simple as that. They stayed, and when the sun set and tiredness began to settle upon the two, Ryan's metaphorical noggin lightbulb lit up. "Shane, I have an idea."

Shane looked at him, pretending there wasn't a slight rise in his anxiety at those words. "What is it?" He questioned, eyeing Ryan suspiciously. Ryan looked hesitant to even say it. 

"Maybe we should sleep in separate areas of the house, to see if either of us get any evidence." He said, eyebrows raised as the question loomed in the air. Shane raised his own, looking at TJ. "Think we should?"

"It's a good idea, kinda spooky. We've got the cameras for you two to each have your own." TJ said with a nervous look. Shane could tell the three of them shared the anxiety of sleeping alone in a supposedly haunted house, the feeling filled the air and made it almost tense to be quiet in the same room. 

"We're doing it." Shane grinned when the red light turned back on. "Little ghosties get me all alone for a while! Gonna keep me up all night stomping around, boy I can't wait." He grinned, and Ryan shook his head, and everything was like it was supposed to be. Nothing was wrong, nothing was scary, everything was normal. 

They set up their beds on opposite sides of the house, Ryan's in the living room and Shane's in the master bedroom. Ryan's anxiety was always there, scared of every haunted place they entered, but for once, Shane's was present, taunting him just as he taunted the ghosts. 

“I’ll see you in the morning, Ryan.” He said softly, as if the anxiety would dissipate if he spoke to his crush (it didn’t) instead of going to his set sleeping spot. 

“Night, Shane.” 

He cringed slightly to himself, turning and going to his place. The set up bed was cold, it didn’t warm up. Shane realized in the silence of the room how much he was truly scared of sleeping alone in a haunted home, and by alone, he meant without Ryan. Ryan was younger and shorter and Shane still felt protected around him, and alone in the room, his guard was gone. 

Maybe it was the house itself, Shane’s relentless taunting, or even the separation of the two onscreen ghoul boys, but Shane found himself wide awake, gripping the sheets that fell around him tight as he heard footsteps circle him. He squeezed his eyes shut impossibly tight, as if not seeing it would make it go away, the stomping would stop if he pretended it wasn’t there. 

He found himself regretting every single taunting word that left his lips before he’d settled into the makeshift bed that night. Every single time he’d told the unseen energies to push him or scratch him or make him bleed flushed into his mind, filling him with horrifying regret, making his chest feel empty and sore. He felt drained, exhausted but unable to sleep as the stomping increased and whispers filled his ears. 

Shane’s eyes filled with tears that spilled as the night went on, the whispers sometimes reaching shouts and the stomps occasionally getting louder. He felt foolish, crying silently as fear consumed him, like a five year old scared to get a drink from the fridge downstairs at two AM because of the dark. 

No matter how foolish he felt, he still found himself scared and crying softly, thoughts he’d never thought before filling his mind and making his hands tighten on the sheets. Shane wanted nothing more that to turn his camera on and record the stomps and whispers and escape this nightmare of a night, but he was truly too horrified to move. 

And maybe it was the fact that Shane had never experienced such agonizing anxiety, the panic pooling in his aching stomach and the fear making him feel like bile was climbing in his throat. He swallowed, hoping that the longer he could stay motionless, the quicker it would stop. He could easily say he’d never been so horrified in his life. 

It carried on, and at 4:29AM, Shane’s anxiety had peaked, and he forced himself up from the bed. He sat up, and the sounds suddenly stopped. He could hear his heart beating in his ears, his blood pumping with the horrible feeling of terror and dread. He sat up, staring through the room and grabbing the camera, turning it on. 

He saw nothing but the darkened room, no figures or eyes or anything that could cause the stomps and whispers. Shane felt his hands shake as he got to his feet, shuffling to the bathroom, tense and afraid of everything in the room. He shivered as the cool air touched his skin. 

It was silent as he put the camera on the bathroom counter, splashing his face with cool water. The red light illuminated the wall it was pointed at, the cool water slightly eased Shane’s anxiety, and suddenly, the camera flew off the counter. 

The quietness was corrupted by the camera hitting the ground, Shane jumping with a loud yell. He stared at the equipment in awe, heart thumping in his chest awfully loud, and then, as if the Amityville horror House was truly only there to cause him horror, he saw a figure. 

Simple as that, the skeptic that didn’t believe in anything spooky now stared directly at an almost transparent man that stared right back at him. He let out a 100% manly (not) scream, backing up and hitting the edge of the tub. As if his life wanted to worsen, he gripped the shower curtain as he went down, yanking down the pole holding it up. He fell, head knocking against the hard side of the tub, the figure that once stared at him disappearing. 

Shane’s long legs hung out of the bath, his arms and torso bent awkwardly with the curtain over him, the pole less than an inch from his head. He felt fuzzy, the anxiety and shock now covered by the fucking pain of falling into a bathtub and hitting his head hard off the side. He wondered how he was still conscious, fully aware that hits to the noggin didn’t often end well. 

He didn’t move, staring at the sink where he used to be standing, and the fear came back then. 

It came back in a flash, blinding him and making his long limbs flail a bit, legs pulling to his chest as he scrambled to sit up in the tub, ignoring the pain in his head. He took a few shuttering breaths when he heard footsteps, squeezing his eyes shut. “Please leave me alone, I’m sorry, please!” He cried, repeating himself over and over until the footsteps stopped. 

“Shane?”


End file.
